


Adam

by Anonymous



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Closure, Forgiveness, Found Family, Gen, I'm bad at tags, Parent Hank Anderson, Past Child Death, i honestly don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 10:25:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16785088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When Connor gets a mysterious new friend, Hank does his best to reign in the long buried paternal instincts and let the kid live his life, despite feeling something isn't quite right. Then he's asked to meet said friend.





	Adam

**Author's Note:**

> This is just me floundering around an idea b/c I have no clue how to properly write anymore - That said, no beta, no edit, so any mistakes = my bad! Nonetheless, Hope you enjoy, and thanks for stopping by!

Started with a phone call. 

An innocuous enough of an event that Hank might not have noticed if Connor hadn't excused himself from movie night to answer. Naturally, the police lieutenant's curiosity had been peaked, and when Connor returned to the couch five minutes later, he went ahead and asked who that had been. Not many people had Connor's direct line. 

The android was, of course, a little vague, explaining Markus had given his contact information to a friend he thought Connor should meet. Although that parental instinct of pry, pry, pry protect pulled at Hank to push further, he had decided to allow Connor his privacy. The kid was grateful, and for the rest of that night and most of the next day, Hank had all but forgotten about Connor's mysterious caller. 

Then they had taken a break from a load of paperwork for Hank to get some lunch. He took the opportunity of the upcoming weekend to cash in his weekly burger, and while he indulged in grease, swiss, and mayo, he didn't miss Connor's somewhat distracted demeanor from where the kid leaned against the table. 

Eventually, with a few bites left to go, Hank asked, “You alright?” 

Connor looked up from where he had been studying his clasped hands, and upon seeing Hank's quiet consideration, offered up a smile in return. 

“Sorry, I was just thinking.” 

“Uh-huh,” Hank took a sip from his soda and tried not to read too much into Connor's settling LED, “Anything for the class?” 

Connor huffed a laugh, then smiled proper that time. 

“Maybe,” Connor said, “I'm meeting someone tonight.” 

“Hm,” Hank hummed, allowing his brain the moment to recall the night before, “The friend Markus sent your way.” 

“Yes,” Connor nodded, attention returning to his hands, where they pressed tightly together, “I'm going after work. I shouldn't be too long, but I might be late coming home.” 

“Alright,” Hank said, toasting Connor with his cup, “Good for you. You don't get out enough for an android your age. 'Bout time you made some new friends.” 

Connor's brow furrowed in confusion, “Thank you?” 

“Yup. You need a ride anywhere?” 

“I'll take a taxi.” 

“You sure? Okay,” Hank shrugged, “This friend of yours, they have a name?” 

“Yes.” 

“That would be…?” 

“None of your business,” Connor said, mouth slightly upturned at the corner. 

Hank pursed his lips and nodded, “Fair enough.” 

The last few moments of the lunch were carried in silence, though Connor seemed more relaxed than he had been all hour. Again, Hank pushed down the urge to dig dig dig, and tossed his trash without another word on the subject. At least, until they were seated back in the car. 

Hank waited for Connor to settle in, his own fingers drumming on the steering wheel. When the android looked over at him curiously, Hank took a steadying breath. He let it out slow, then turned to Connor, a little of the apprehension he felt slinking into his voice. 

“We don't… Do androids- Do _you_ …” Hank sighed, sucked in another breath, then simply faced Connor dead on and asked, “The birds and the bees, you know 'em?” 

Hank's answer was the sudden vacancy of Connor's seat, and the definitive shut of the passenger's side door. 

… 

Late was late and then there was _late_ , but honestly, Connor was a state of the art detective. That kid had more combat knowledge and experience in one zero of his code than Hank did with over twenty years of police work. In fact, Hank had had the displeasure of seeing first-hand how terrifyingly efficient Connor could be when called to violence. 

Connor could handle himself. Hank could trust Connor to handle himself. 

None of that stopped the nagging what-if's and could-be's that had started to plague Hank's mind the closer the clock on his phone ticked towards 11. 

Having punched out at five on the dot, the two had gone their separate ways for the evening, Connor to his mysterious not-date, and Hank home for a night of leftovers and game shows. 

Sumo, the big lug, had snuggled up close to his side, settling in for Jeopardy heated stir fry. About the time eight started turning to nine, however, Sumo had huffed in annoyance and moved off the couch to his bed. It was only then Hank had realized he'd been bouncing his leg in agitation. Making the mistake of checking the time, Hank swung his legs up into Sumo's vacated spot, and then double checked his phone once more for any missed messages. 

After nine came ten, and by then Hank was tapping his screen on every five to fifteen minutes. Still no texts, no calls, no word or sign from Connor on how things were going. 

No news was good news only if you weren't in law enforcement. 

When the hours started to creep into the AM, Hank had finally stopped trying to strangle his phone. The television had long gone dark from inactivity, and Sumo had taken to quietly fussing in the corner, picking up on Hank's nerves. The man himself knew he was overreacting, and if he wasn't going to bother doing something to alleviate his concern, he might as well get some sleep. Being tired _and_ angry would do neither of them good. 

And while the image of him waiting silently in the dark, ready to dramatically reveal himself was a fun one – he simply didn't have the energy for it.

Eventually, Hank had settled on letting Connor know the door would be unlocked, then headed for bed. Soon as he had slipped out of his jeans, however, Sumo had started up in the living room, whining and barking in joy. With a sigh, Hank pulled his shirt back on and headed down the hall, finding an elated Saint Bernard leaning into Connor's affections while said android failed to quiet the dog down. 

Taking a notice of the absence of any bright blue smears, Hank crossed his arms and leaned against the hallway entrance.

“Have fun?” 

The android startled, snapping his focus to Hank. When he saw the undoubtedly tired expression the Lieutenant was giving him, Connor rose to finish closing the front door, allowing Sumo to wander out of his grip. He then turned to Hank looking suitably ashamed. 

All the pent up worry and anxiety seemed to melt from Hank just seeing the kid was okay.

“Sorry, Hank-” 

“Say no more,” Hank waved him off, grateful he might get some sleep at least, “I was young once, believe it or not. I get it. Just, let me know where you are so I know you're alright, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay. Thank you,” Hank said with a slight bow, before he pushed off the wall, “Now, if the details can wait until morning, I would like to go to bed.” 

“Of course,” Connor smiled, “And thank you too.” 

“For fucking what?” 

“For trusting me.” 

Hank stopped, already halfway down the hall, and glanced back to give Connor a good once over. He seemed okay, still dressed from work, nothing out of place, nothing that jumped to immediate worry. He was just a young man coming home from a small night out. And yet… Something tugged at Hank, asked him to ask, to make sure, to sit Connor down, get the full story, moment by moment. 

“S'not you I don't trust, son,” He said instead, and ignored Connor's frown when he waved him to bed, “Try to get some rest, or at least be quiet about it.” 

“Goodnight, Hank,” Connor called softly. 

Wasn't until Hank was settled under his comforter, Sumo coming to curl up at his side when Connor had made for his own room, that Hank's mind picked up on what had bugged him. 

Standing there, LED blue, in his own home, tie loose and cuffs undone, Connor had been rigid. His posture far from the picture the rest of him had painted, almost as if he'd been ready to spring, to run. Almost as if he had expected Hank to give him a reason to.

Sighing into his pillow, Hank watched the hall go dark when Connor flicked the last light off.

… 

“Never answered my question,” Hank said around a spoonfull of cereal the next morning. 

Across from him, Connor caught his coin mid toss, giving Hank his full attention even as the older man skimmed through the Saturday headlines on a tablet. He'd been flicking the damn thing since they'd gotten up, LED more yellow than not, lost in thought while Hank opted for an easy breakfast.

“I'm sorry?” Connor asked with a head tilt.

“Last night,” Hank clarified, “Asked if you had fun. Never answered.” 

“Oh,” Connor looked down at the table while Hank kept an eye on him from the peripheral. The kid's light stayed yellow for a good bit, then briefly flashed red, “No.” 

All those what-if's and could-be's and should-have's came rushing back with an ugly ferocity that had Hank setting his tablet down and pushing his bowl aside. He knew something had seemed off, should have double checked, made sure Connor knew what he was getting into. 

The android was barely over a year old. Connor might have been through his adjustment period, but there was still a lot of life ahead of him, a lot of unknown ground to cover, a lot of mistakes that he might not be able to afford. 

“What happened?” Hank asked. Something in his tone drew Connor's attention upward, and Connor frowned at what he saw, brow pinched in concern. 

“Nothing,” He said, and Hank readied himself for an interrogation before Connor corrected himself, “Nothing I couldn't handle, I mean.” 

“Connor-” 

“Hank,” Connor insisted, leaning forward to more properly meet the Lieutenant's trained gaze, “Markus was there. He introduced us, we talked. I was unaware of their exact interest in me, but once everything was cleared up… Markus took his leave, and, we talked some more.” 

“Okay,” Hank watched Connor relax the more he went on, “You talked. What about?” 

Connor considered Hank for a moment, mouth pressed into a thin line. Then his gaze darted to the side in a moment of doubt, that impossibly vast mind of his calculating and recalculating and coming to some grand conclusion all in less than a second. 

Finally, Connor's eyes flitted back to Hank's, and something soft, something cautious had settled there. 

“You,” he said. 

“Me?” Hank frowned, the fuck? 

“Yes,” Connor sat up straight, hands folded in front of him over the table. Whatever fucking decision he had made, he was suddenly very confident about it, “You.”

Alright, “What about me?” 

“Who you were, how you were. They would like to meet you,” Connor said, “Given your history, however, they thought it best to go through me first.” 

“Huh,” Hank deflated against his chair, taken somewhat off guard. Honestly, he didn't know exactly what to think about that. Except that Connor's new friend was obviously an android, and, “Didn't know I was such an asshole my reputation preceded me.” 

That earned him a snort from Connor at least, and a stutter in that cycling yellow. 

“The fuck they wanna meet me for anyway?” 

“That might be best left for them to say,” Connor said, voice quiet again, that flash of mirth wiped clean, “I assure you Hank, I wouldn't have brought it up if I didn't think it important. And you can always say 'no'.” 

“Right,” Hank drummed his fingers across the tabletop. He needed a moment to figure everything out, but with each passing second Hank was silent, he noticed Connor's LED flash more and more red. 

The kid's contact probably just wanted to thank him for something or another, considering the nature of their work, especially over the last fourteen months. Why anyone would think any of the praise for the reduction in crime against androids should be passed his way, he didn't know. Still…

“Fuck it, why not?”

… 

Androids were nothing if not punctual, and efficient, and Hank found himself being awoken from his car nap a mere minute past noon. When Connor had offered to drive, Hank had agreed readily enough. He was still tired from the night before, and for him sleep was never a bad thing. However, what he hadn't expected was to open his eyes and find them parked outside the snow covered playground. 

“We're here,” Connor gently supplied. 

Hank sat up in his seat and frowned, but Connor had already killed the engine and was exiting the car. He watched the android go about three steps, before Connor turned around and pointedly shoved his hands in his coat pockets, waiting. Hank rolled his eyes, yeah, he got it, deviants felt the cold and all that… 

“Fuck,” Hank muttered, unprepared for the sudden chill that hit him. He closed his door quickly and made his way around to Connor. The kid helpfully removed his own scarf and wrapped it snug around Hank's neck, the older man merely glaring at him the whole time, unwilling to uncross his arms to protest properly. 

“Thank you,” Hank grumbled. 

“You're welcome,” Connor indicated for Hank to go ahead down the path. Another set of footprints had preceded their own slow crunch through the snow.

Considering the weather, Hank wasn't surprised to find the playground abandoned. Usually a sunny Saturday had pulled in a good dozen or so kids, parents or nannies in tow. Used to be Hank could hear them long before he unleashed the child and dog in his own back seat. When he did, though, the volume of laughter and joyous screams would go up about tenfold, if just for a moment. 

He missed that. 

Stopping by the bench he would occupy, garnering the interests of the nearby mothers, Hank relaxed the grip he had around his own chest, his body having adjusted somewhat to the cold. From his peripheral, he saw his soon to be acquaintance glance up from wherever their own head had been, before they stood and nervously faced Hank. 

When Hank took the moment to clear his thoughts the android very gently addressed him. 

“Mr. Anderson?” 

The air froze in his chest, the blood seeming to drain from him, and Hank turned to meet their friend eye to eye. 

He knew them. He had met them, four years ago. They had introduced themselves, dressed in blue, smeared with red, with blood, a child's blood, _his_ child's blood. Their glove covered hands had shook when they addressed him, but their voice had been steady, cold, dead as they tore Hank's world apart and set fire to the pieces. 

“My name is Adam.” 

… 

No. 

Fuck no. 

Connor – Hank glanced at his partner, Connor having silently come up behind him, but the kid's eyes were purposefully resting on the other android. Hank struggled for something to say, unable to speak with the growing weight pressing on his chest. Instead, Adam spoke up for the both of them. 

“Please, Mr. Anderson, if you could hear me out?” 

Then and only then did Connor look at him. His eyes were wet with sympathy, and his lips pressed into an encouraging smile. He wanted Hank to do this, he thought Hank should, and Hank would have, for him, for Connor if he thought Hank needed this – but he wasn't sure if he _could_. 

_You could always say no._

Lost for words, Hank turned back to Adam. 

Before, they had stood mechanical, as sterile as the hospital they worked for. Their eyes had been unflinching, uncaring, and now Hank could see the fear. He could see the uncertainty wavering there, plain as day. He could also see the moment they softened at his silent agreement to listen.

“Thank you,” Adam almost whispered, and Hank wished people would stop thanking him for shit. He doubted he would have been able to move on his own anyway. 

Adam clasped their hands in front of them, nervous as they should be. Taking in a slow, calming breath, the cold air undoubtedly helping, Adam released it and once more met Hank's gaze. 

“I understand if you don't wish to know me, Mr. Anderson, and if at any point you walk away, I'll understand. But if you could- If I could…” Adam gripped their hands tighter, they took in another breath, this one short and heavy, then continued, “Before the revolution, I was a surgical assist unit at the DMC Receiving Hospital. On the night of October 11th, 2035, I was on duty in my second year. My surgeon, Dr. Hollenburg… was not.

“Staff was low due to the weather, and we had already handled three other emergencies before we got the call about two incoming vehicular accident victims. One stable, one critical.” 

They had placed them in the same ambulance. Hank had sat on the bench, allowing them to tend to his concussion and bruised ribs without fuss, eyes ever glued to the small, battered body on the gurney while they ripped Cole's clothes away from the worst of it. 

“I was,” Adam hesitated, needing to look away from Hank, “Dr. Hollenburg was too far down the pipe to be revived for the surgery, and there wasn't time to call in a more qualified replacement. I had handled two other surgeries that night, though nothing so severe, not on my own. There wasn't a choice for our nurses though, they had to put me in that room, I was the only one if your son stood a chance.

“I don't… When I stepped into that room, when I saw Cole,” Adam closed their eyes, they were shaking, and when they opened them again, they hadn't stopped, “I'm so sorry, Mr. Anderson. I'm so sorry, I couldn't – I didn't – I should _have_ found a way. I woke up that night. I woke up to… him. In my hands, and I knew, I knew what life was, what was slipping between my useless fingers, how precious a thing he possessed, and I had to save it for him. When I couldn't. When I didn't. When I felt…” 

Adam steadied themselves, the sorrow, the grief and regret in their eyes all being replaced with a hard passion, “That night, after I came to you, I received word that I would be reset and resold to spare the hospital any possible legal grief. They wanted to sweep Dr. Hollenburg's inability to fulfill his duty under the rung. They were going to kill me. To kill that memory of Cole's last seconds, and I couldn't let them. 

“I was terrified of letting them, and so I ran,” Adam stepped closer to where Hank stood, silent and unreadable, “Eventually, I found Jericho, and I did what I could there, what I couldn't do before. 

“Mr. Anderson, Cole… Gave me everything. Every moment I've been able to call my own, every thought, every whim I've been able to act on, or refuse to, every second I know I'm alive, your son gave me that. I've thought about Cole every day since that night, and I wish I could give back what the world took from him. I really do. I'm only here now because he existed – and I know, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-” 

Hank grabbed Adam by the collar and pulled him tight against himself, arms wrapping around the shaking android's shoulders, willing them to quiet, telling them it was okay, he was there too, they'd be alright. 

At first, Adam didn't respond, stunned by the sudden embrace. Then slowly, surely, Adam brought their hands to twist into the fabric between Hank's shoulders, and rested their head into the crook of his neck right before the first stuttering sob escaped them.

… 

After that, they had stood in the afternoon sun, talking until the sky began to turn orange. Connor had joined them, recalling Adam's efforts during the more tumultuous days of the revolution, the lives they saved with their skill and knowledge. Hank had listened the entire time, a small look of content on his face, and eventually the conversation turned towards future plans and whatnot until they found it was time to say goodbye. 

Both partners shook hands with the noticeably lighter android, then saw them off, watching them wander their way further along the park to wherever they were due next. 

Next to Hank, Connor stood with his profile framed by the sun setting over the river, LED a calm, rhythmic blue. The sight added to sense of peace that had come over Hank and he felt his face soften with affection. Noticing Hank's attention, Connor glanced his way then furrowed his brow. Damn kid had something to say, so Hank stayed quiet, let him say it. 

“I should have told you sooner,” Connor finally confessed, “I had considered not telling you at all, unsure of if you would want this.” 

“But?” 

“But,” Connor said, “I realized that wasn't my decision to make.” 

“Damn right,” Hank said, patting Connor on the back, “S'alright, son. You did good. Don't know if I would've come if it weren't for you.” 

“Are you glad you did?” 

“Yeah,” Hank nodded, “Yeah, I am.” 

“Me too,” Connor said, and Hank looked at him, really looked at him. 

Some days it floored Hank, Connor's mere existence. How someone so kind, so genuine, so open could come from such a shit show of a world, enter such a fuck-up's life like he did, and decide to stay. Hank had no idea what he, of all people, had done to deserve someone like Connor, and there was a lot of things Hank regretted about his life, but that wasn't ever going to be one of them. 

“C'mon,” Hank said, “Let's get home.”

END

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
